Unlike Father, Unlike Son
by SamanthaTL
Summary: Modern-Day AU. Following the death of his adoptive parents, Legolas traces back to his roots in search of a family he could call home. He is soon engulfed in the clash of two completely polar personalities when he finally meets his real father, a corporate bigwig residing lavishly in Beverly Hills.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: These characters are JRR Tolkien's and not mine._

_A/N: I scrapped my other fic in progress (I might repost, or not) and switched on over to Modern-Day AU. It will be kind of weird._

* * *

He especially likes how invigorating the wind feels against his face. How he thinks he's not contributing to air pollution. And his topmost, and secret, motivation; it keeps him out of the gym.

He has always hated the gym. He has not a singular pleasant memory from gym class in high school.

And even though high school felt like eons of years ago to him, Legolas Greenleaf has managed to stay the same way he was during the most part his youth. At twenty-four, he is still a free spirit who refuses the pressure of society's mandate. He loves camping, fronts a heavy metal band, and is deeply attached to his Superfly FS 8 bike.

Complete with helmet and his rugged old bag, the same one from high school, he whistles as he tears down the winding streets of his hometown in Thousand Oaks, California on his preferred mode of transportation.

One day as it clicked altogether when he was roughly nine years old, he figured out Thousand Oaks was not really his hometown. That he was displaced from another part of the state, possibly on the more affluent side. And the parents who raised him clearly do not have the same impossible blue eyes; porcelain skin and immaculate bleached blond hair that he naturally possesses.

He sticks out in every family and class photo like a sore thumb.

Regardless, he held his adoptive parents very dear to him.

Three years prior, both died from a car accident and it nearly drove him into depression. After inheriting a fair amount of money, he sold their beautiful house on Potrero Road because he couldn't find things to put in the extra rooms, and the sights, scents and memories tied to his parents lingered and it did nothing but crush his heart. He flagged himself a humble apartment away from the lake but still close to the foot of the mountains.

He is an arbourist. Climbing trees and lifting heavy logs have earned him hard muscles and lean physique. It allows him to be surrounded by nature. Nothing gives him more comfort than the expanse of the outdoors.

He arrives at his destination and jumps from his bike, lifting it off the road and onto the grassy elevated fields of the city cemetery. With a steady hand on the handlebar of the bike, he reaches for his bag behind him with the other one, pulling two small bouquets of mixed wild flowers that jut out of a deep pocket.

There's a patch of stubborn tall grass that grows wildly around the area where his late parents lay that the maintenance crew always seems to overlook. Peering down at his mother's and then his father's tombstone with glossy eyes he holds back a tear, hiccupping as he bends over to place the flowers on the earth.

The epitaph simply reads:

_In Loving Memory of Inwen and Saeros Greenleaf_

"Merry Christmas, mom, dad."

* * *

On the eight floor of an old apartment building, the elevator door struggles to slide open and Legolas steps out with his bike in tow. Even the kind of ding the elevator bell makes is questionable but it doesn't bother him anymore. He quickly runs a hand over his pocket to ensure his iPhone is intact and adjusts the volume of his earphones as he listens to a familiar voice on the other line.

"I'm thinking this year you should come tomorrow before midnight. We'll have a Christmas Eve dinner and then we'll open presents while we're stuffed."

Tauriel is Legolas' girlfriend, partner in crime, and college sweetheart. Her hair is red and tousled, oftentimes braided. She has mossy green eyes and a mousy face, cute dimples that dig deep. They initially met in a college library fighting over a used book.

Legolas wrinkles his nose at the invitation he knew was coming his way.

"I don't know, Tauriel. I'm not feeling the holiday spirit. I downloaded a couple of movies to re-watch and was just planning to stay in. Make some popcorn. Double butter," he invites her, breathing heavily at the word 'butter'.

"Paranormal Activity and Blair Witch Project?" she asks coyly.

This highly impresses Legolas. "You know what I like."

"Legolas, honey, my mom is making your favourite lasagna for Christmas. You have no choice but to come over," Tauriel smiles into her cell phone.

She got him. Mama Tauriel's homemade, ground chicken lasagna with feta and ricotta cheese is one of his weaknesses. He shakes his head and chuckles. "This would be my fourth holidays with your whole family. I feel like I'm intruding and I always end up eating most of the food." He turns the key in the lock. "I have no shame."

He carefully leans his bike against the wall by the washroom after he almost kicks his apartment door open, proceeding to fish out his cell phone while he puts his bag on the floor.

"Alright you pulled my leg. I will come over to your place so we can still have our gift exchange, ok?" Tauriel suggests patiently.

"I love you," Legolas feels like the luckiest schmuck in the world.

"I love you too, weirdo."

He pokes his cell phone to hang up and places it on top of the bookcase. One shelf below, where he keeps his business course material from college, he eyes down a piece of folded white paper sandwiched halfway between an old Marketing and Macro Economics books.

Everyday he enters his apartment he blinks dismissively at this piece of peeking paper, as if it is waiting to be yanked out. He knows what is written on it. He knows what needs to be done with it.

Today he takes a deep breath and snatches the paper awake from its dormant state. He flips it open and is re-acquainted with his late adoptive mother's cursive writing in ballpoint pen.

Back in the day when young Legolas underwent phases wherein he was especially curious about his biological parents and his background, his mother always told him he is more than welcome to seek them. She was willing to be the bridge, even if it pinched her heart.

He stares at the ink and the curves, as if waiting for them to come alive. Sprawled across the paper are the name and the phone number of an adoption services agency.

* * *

Sometimes she can't read him at all.

Tauriel sits on one end of the couch, elbows resting atop her knees, one hand running down her face. The conversation drifting in Legolas' living room keeps hobbling in a tired circle and so does Legolas.

He suddenly stops pacing back and forth and plops down on a black recliner by the window. This summons his pet cat Seven to spring up from nowhere and claw her way to his lap. Legolas greets her by generously petting her head.

"I'm going to do it. I should do it, don't you think?" he asks Tauriel but not for the first time. The cat helps her answer by purring and putting her paw on his kneecap.

"…Yes I encourage you to do it if you think you are up and ready for it," Tauriel is close to getting off the couch to strangle him a little.

Legolas winces as if he is in pain, eyes darting between Tauriel's head and the wall behind her. He avoids the piercing on his right eyebrow as he takes a swipe across his temple.

"I don't know. What if they totally reject me again...like what they did in the first place...hence the story of my life?" he talks in broken sentences and barely a dash of confidence.

"But you don't know that, right?," she keeps both hands on her cheeks. "What if it works out this time?"

"And what if it doesn't. It will be twice the hurt."

"Alright then," she shifts in her seat and throws her hands up. "Don't do it. No pressure."

Legolas sighs, drawing loops in the gray fur of his cat. "Although, I've been thinking about it for quite a while now. It would be nice to meet them…" his face completely drops for a split second and Tauriel is able to catch it.

At this point she finally leaves the couch and saunters over to him, shooing the cat off his lap. She stands by his side and makes him look up at her by placing her pointy finger under his chin.

"Legolas, I know you've already made a decision in your mind. Don't let any doubt stop you," her green eyes dance with his blue. "Whatever your heart is telling you to do, you should follow it, and I'm here to support you. I wouldn't want you to regret anything."

* * *

The San Diego Freeway is nearly empty on a Saturday morning when Legolas strapped his bike onto the back of his black Prius and made a southbound trip to Beverly Hills. He does not quite know what to expect, or how to handle a bad reaction if his parents refuse to give him a warm reception.

However, he is mildly intrigued by the identity of his father. He remembers the looks he was given by some associates working in the adoption agency when they recognized his real last name as they handed him his documents.

_Thranduillion_. He is a "Legolas Thranduillion". He snorts at how silly it sounds. Almost like royalty, he thinks.

He shrugs at pretty much everything and turns left into a plaza to park his car in front of a Walgrens. He plucks the bike off the car and studies the map app on his phone one more time before he jumps onto the seat.

The December sun is blasting down and is well received by endless lineups of palm trees, casting funky shadows on the spotless sidewalks of such a world-renowned icon of sophistication that houses A-list celebrities and pompous socialites. Legolas ignores the condescending glances he is thrown by overdressed people and their army of shopping bags; brand names in big font slapped across the front.

He is dressed down to a simple blue windbreaker over a black shirt and ripped jeans, a smile plastered to his face as he continues to ride his bike in a carefree glow. Trendy people, so clean and beautiful, walking on the spotless sidewalks of Beverly Hills turn their noses up at him and it makes him want to pull up his sleeves to showcase his arms.

"Wait 'til they see my anarchy tattoo," he half-threatens them in his mind. "And my Libra scales…and my dream catchers…" he continues to list the tattoos that decorates the rest of his torso.

As he turns into the street of his destination, his train of thought has been distracted by the sudden change in the sizes of the houses. The mansions have sprung up grander than the other obnoxious mansions on the avenue where he started. The gates are higher and sparkling. The number of driveways housing Mercedes and Bentleys has doubled.

Finally he stares down a particular white mansion with towering pillars along the front patio, nestled deep inside a massive lot with a glamorous, oversized fountain smack in the middle of a roundabout.

He gapes at the golden address number "20" embellished with black trimmings against the nine-footer golden gates. He quickly pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and glances to check the address again if he is stalking the correct house.

"_No fucking way_," he thinks to himself, and begins to doubt if he even wants to proceed and press the brass button that is supposedly the gate bell. He shoves the paper back into his pocket.

He takes in a deep breath before he turns on his heel with the other foot already poised over the bike pedal. He thinks the adoption agency might have screwed up his documents and he is ready to file the day away and drive back to Thousand Oaks.

But even before he is able to mount his bike, his eyes pop at a white CLA 45 AMG Mercedes leisurely rolling down the winding pathway towards the residence gate where he is standing frozen in his tracks. Bogged by renewed curiosity, he waits until the car makes a full stop right in front of the gate and is inches from his front bike tire.

He stalls in silence and so does the car. Seconds stretch before the driver side window starts to roll halfway down in its full tinted glory. Legolas' hand is off the handlebar and is back into his jean pocket to fish out the document.

"You have ten seconds to get off my property," a man coolly says as his head appears behind the black window, sporting shoulder-length bleached blond hair tied back in a low ponytail. His thick, dark eyebrows are slightly crunched behind a pair of designer aviator shades.

Legolas starts to fidget. Before he is aware of it, his hand holding the battered paper is shaking comically against his will. He tries to piece things together, bouncing looks between the paper and the man who seems he's already had enough.

"Umm…hello good afternoon," he begins, internally kicking himself for stuttering.

The man behind the wheel turns to the woman with long dark locks sitting beside him on the passenger seat who is also covered in designer shades big enough that it takes up half of her face. "The paparazzi are getting younger. This is a concern," he says under his breath but loud enough for Legolas to hear.

The woman leans in and peers out of the driver window to smile lazily at Legolas.

"I want to be nice to the less fortunate, so I promised to be of decent manner towards the paparazzi," she says, struggling to talk in a louder tone. "Please no pictures."

"I am no paparazzi, ma'am," Legolas corrects her. This seems to bother the woman.

There is no indication of the man's facial expression except the slight movement of his eyebrows. "Then what in the world are you?" he asks condescendingly.

Legolas is oblivious to how big of an asshole the man is. On any other normal day he would've already punched him in the nose. "Are you Mr. Thranduillion? Thranduil Thranduillion, sir?"

"I asked you first. What are you, and what is your business on my property?" the man repeats, shaking his head magnificently.

More uneasy silence stretches the distance between the two, and Legolas now looks like he's about to keel over. Still peering from inside the passenger seat, the woman's face moulds into a slow realization as she gingerly takes the frame of her shades and lowers it down her nose, dark brown eyes scrutinizing the other bleached blond man standing too close outside their car.

"Well?..." the man persists, straight-faced, ready to call security.

Legolas is anxious and beyond confused and he is not hiding any of it.

"My name is Legolas and I'm twenty-four and I drove all the way from Thousand Oaks and I'm here because I think you're my dad."


	2. Chapter 2

Some kind of machine starts to whir and the gate finally slides open.

Thranduil zones out as he gapes at a younger version of himself mirror the same face he is making. While the woman beside him twitters away unnecessary side comments, he slams on the gas and screeches his way through the entrance to his mansion.

And instead of fleeing the scene, Legolas decides to be stubborn and nestles himself by the concrete wall where the gates connect. He camps below the brass bell, testing how far he can go until his 'father' would have to come back out again to kick him out himself.

Fifteen minutes is all it takes for Legolas to start nodding off as he leans against the wall, waiting for anybody to either tell him to go away or to arrest him. He raves about the grass and how soft and smooth it feels underneath him, quickly lulling him to take a nap.

He shudders. "This place needs some anarchy," is his last thought before comfort claims him and his eyelids start to droop.

He dreams a very rapid dream. In that dream is a series of moving pictures, tainted by time, zooming in an out like a bad documentary. There is an old picture of his adoptive mother in the middle of a crowd; a familiar smile on her face as he walks off the stage, graduating from high school. His adoptive father, strong and gentle, teaching him how to ride a bike in an empty church parking lot. His cat Seven curled up by the window in his apartment. Tauriel, brushing her teeth and yapping away at the same time, bubbles dropping from her mouth onto his foot.

And finally, a picture he hasn't seen before. He is aware he is being prepped for an overdue family picture, but not with his adoptive parents this time. He sits in the middle of a bright photography studio, head turned towards a camera, and Thranduil is standing behind him, looking sharp in a suit. He has one hand on Legolas' shoulder and he looks as happy as him. And in that dream, Legolas is sure that he felt that his father loved him back.

The loud hum of a gate re-opening behind him rattles him awake. He bolts up and looks around in panic as if he has no recollection of where he is and what he is there for. A butler steps out and gives Legolas a once-over from head to toe.

In turn, Legolas falls conscious of his looks and subconsciously tucks a loose strand of long hair behind his ear.

"Master Thranduil allows your presence in his home. Please follow me," the burly butler says.

Legolas is holding back a chuckle.

"At ease, Alfred," he whispers, saluting him from behind. He almost lunges forward to attack the butler when he grabs ahold of his bike without saying a word and parks it near the other luxury cars.

At the point of entry, four steps into the mansion, Legolas' mouth drops at how badly the place reeks of opulence and high status. From furniture to light fixtures to the artworks that hang against dark red accent walls, the Thranduillion mansion does not have room nor respect for low quality items. He closes his eyes and takes in the scent. It smells like a fusion of green tea and fresh bamboo. He treads behind the silent butler as they cover a small portion of the main floor.

What he notices that is almost offending is the constant sparkle of random objects in the room that burst as they catch light barging in from the tall windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. The abnormal amount of brightness is almost making him trip out.

At the end of one of the many hallways, the butler stops in front of a particular door and leaves Legolas.

He hesitates as he grabs the doorknob. Taking a deep breath he finally enters a long, spacious room with nothing but a sturdy oak desk with two sturdy oak chairs tucked away by the massive arched, stained windows in the very far end. There is a weak glow in the room, a small burst of rose tint as the Californian sun tries to stream through the window.

He takes one of the chairs and scans the rest of the room, feeling ridiculous because he feels like he is about to sell himself in a doomed job interview. His palms are sweaty and he is nervous and the woman he saw earlier in the car is currently hovering around somewhere behind him.

"What do we have here. Another person trying to claim he is of Thranduil's family lineage?" the still unnamed woman comes around from his left and heads to the window. Legolas sees nothing but her silhouette. "Duly noted."

"Ma'am I have no other intention but to meet my father. I'm not trying to claim..." he trails as he squints at the woman, trying to make out her face. "...anything. Just a bit of his time is all."

"Right. You would just like to get to know him right? Hang out. Catch up. Shoot a couple of hoops," she drips with sarcasm and smells like expensive Bvlgari perfume.

"Sure. That would be nice," he answers innocently.

The woman swiftly walks away from the window, the click of her high heels demanding to be heard, and sidles up close to Legolas. Her voice drops to a whisper.

"I know what people like you are after. I'm way ahead of you, buster."

Legolas does not bat an eyelash and feels an overwhelming dislike of the woman already. He keeps patient.

"No, actually Buster was my old cat's name. He died of old age. My name is Le-go-las," he annunciates his name carefully as if she was slow to understand. "...I loved that cat..."he adds quietly as he looks far off in the distance.

The woman jerks away as the door opens, beaming at Thranduil from across the narrow room. He glides soundlessly across the macassar ebony hardwood floor with one of the many butlers in tow, clad in tuxedo and white bow tie. His shoulder-length hair is still neatly pulled back, not one strand astray, and his outfit has changed into a combination of thin cardigan and khaki pants.

He glances at the woman who is now leaning on the edge of the desk before he sits on the oak chair opposite of Legolas. His hand is quick to rummage through the drawer, pulling out a cigar from one of the opened boxes.

"Galadriel. Looks like...you're off on a great start with...my boy here..." he mumbles as he tries to balance the fat Cuban cigar between his lips. He reaches for a lighter in his pocket and smiles weakly at Legolas.

"I am just marveling at the resemblance between you and him! You both are so handsome," she squeals. She then turns to look at Legolas with sharp eyes. "You're his mini-me!"

Legolas gathers all his might to stop his eyes from rolling.

"Is she annoying you? She does that sometimes," Thranduil flicks the lighter.

"Oh please!", she approaches Legolas again and with a big smile on her face, she places a hand on his shoulder. "You will learn to love me."

She leaves the room abruptly; further confusing Legolas and making him more uncomfortable than he already is. He clears his throat and returns Thranduil the same weak smile.

"I am not irritated at all. I think she's delightful," Legolas lies.

Thraduil's small smile evolves into a full-teethed one. "You're already sounding a lot like me."

Legolas continues to be awkward deep inside. He looks around the room and contemplates the glorious sparkling window, amazed at how superfluous the man in front of him is living his life. Thranduil barely puts effort into waving a hand and it prompts a butler to come rushing to his side. He takes one puff of his cigar and orders two glasses of Amarone wine. It doesn't come to his mind to ask what Legolas might have wanted instead.

Legolas casts the robotic butler a glance before turning to his father.

"The window behind you, it's amazing…I've never seen anything like it."

"That's understandable," Thranduil dismisses him. "It's made of Swarovski crystals."

Legolas' eyes pop out a little.

"…Swarovski!?," he is outraged, ready with an automatic response that has something to do with impoverished nations starving in the world.

"Yes. I'm the CEO of the Swarovski head office here in the west coast and owner of a store in New York." Thranduil says as if it's not a big deal. "...One can say I have a penchant for shiny things."

The wine glasses and the wine bottle arrive, placed carefully by the butler on the oak desk. While the butler unscrews the cork of the ten year-old wine, Legolas studies the crystal-embedded stem of the glass.

"You don't say," Legolas says.

There are damn Swarovski crystals everywhere in the mansion.

"It's usually a long, harrowing road to the top. I had my ways," Thranduil takes a sip of the Amarone. "Nice guys never finish first."

The butler hands Legolas a full glass while Thranduil contemplates him with skeptic eyes. Legolas shakes the glass in a circular motion, giving the wine a swirl, bothered by his father's statement.

"You seem successful with what you do. Umm, congratulations," Legolas says and tips the wine glass slightly towards Thranduil.

Instead of saying thanks, Thranduil asks him, "Can you say you are successful yourself?"

Legolas doesn't think twice.

"Well I have a rock band and a girlfriend whom I have healthy relationships with. Even though my band mates are a pain in the ass sometimes. I work as an arbourist up in Thousand Oaks and I love it. I enjoy working outdoors. So yes, I'm confident to say I am successful as well."

Thranduil does not answer for what seems like the longest time, slowly blinking at Legolas over the rim of his wine glass. He puts the glass down on the desk and clasps his hands together.

"What is your net worth?" he asks.

Legolas' eyebrows furrow at him. He suddenly feels extra aware of himself. "Excuse me?"

"What is your financial status?"

"I don't know. Ok, I guess. Enough for me to live comfortably."

"'OK' and 'comfortably' are never good words to keep and use in your vocabulary."

"So let's revise that to 'mind-blowing' and 'excessively'," Legolas breaks into a weak smile.

Thranduil stands up from his seat unannounced, scaring Legolas and the butler. He takes a couple of steps to reach the most unnecessarily expensive window Legolas has ever seen and peers out, lost in a shallow thought.

"There seems to be a vast world of difference between us, don't you think? It makes me wonder if you really are a descendant of my blood or just someone who extremely looks like me," Thranduil says, his profile highlighted in faint pink.

Legolas dips his head in hurt. "You're quick to conclude. We've barely exchanged enough sentences that would warrant a full conversation." He pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and puts it down on the desk. "Here is the legal document that states you're my biological father. I got it from Adoption Foundation of California." He pouts before he follows suit, standing up and ready to make an exit.

Thranduil faces his son almost at eye level. There are two inches of height difference between them. Thranduil is six foot three. "You sound like a highly intelligent man, Legolas. Very articulate. You can make money work for you."

Legolas stops a scoff from escaping his throat and shakes his head, flicking imaginary dirt on his windbreaker sleeve.

"Look, I didn't shamelessly roll in here with my heart in my hand to be lectured about money and how rich I should be. I don't need a financial planner, I need a father. Sorry we wasted each other's time."

Legolas reaches in his front pocket to pull out a hair tie and wears it on his wrist. He then turns around and sloppily collects his long bleached-blond hair with both hands. Once he has gathered all his hair neatly, he reaches for the hair tie on his wrist.

This emits an odd noise that is a mixture of a squeak and a gasp. Legolas swings his head back to catch Thranduil covering his mouth, but he can't quite cover the twitching of his eyes.

"I don't have a crown nor a tiara, so I'd have to make do with a hair tie," Legolas says sarcastically. He does not look entertained. Thranduil is so fixated in Legolas that the flippant remark eases through his ears.

"What's that...on the back of your neck..." Thranduil asks the air between him and Legolas.

Legolas' feet are now frozen and the hands holding his hair together refuse to move. "Oh my god. Is there...a bug...on my neck?"

He could feel Thranduil move closer behind him to the point of feeling his breath on his skin.

"Sweet jumping Jehoshaphat," Thranduil adds without really thinking. There is a scuffle and the butler is now also inches away from his neck and pretty much cheek to cheek with Thranduil. "Is that what I think it is?"

"...I'm not even going to bother asking who Jehoshaphat is," Legolas says quietly.

"The event that we assumed would never come to fruition is here, master Thranduil," the butler says mysteriously.

Legolas blows a puff of air in exasperation. "Alright. Enough of this Twilight Zone. I have reached my freak-out quota for today," he says firmly and finishes tying his hair. "I am out of here!"

"Wait. Give us a moment...master Legolas," the butler pleads with an emphasis on 'master'.

"Awesome. So what exactly am I a master of?," Legolas says with a mischievous smile.

He feels the pressure of a hand on his shoulder, preventing him to step away. He turns around to face his father and then shrugs him off.

"Legolas, are you aware of this unique mark on the back of your neck?" Thranduil inquires.

"Yes. That's my birthmark. It looks like half an anchor," he answers.

Thranduil appears like he's about to break down and turns around, lifting his ponytail up to reveal the back of his neck to Legolas.

"I have the other half to your anchor!" he exclaims with a hint of excitement. Legolas cannot believe it. This man that he thinks is nearly deranged has the exact same birthmark on the exact same spot on the neck as him. He wrinkles his nose and pulls away.

"...Judging on how exuberant you are, this must mean something huge to you. May I ask what it is..." Legolas trails cluelessly as he watches a kaleidoscope of emotion flutter across Thranduil's face.

"I can't believe it. After so many years, I never thought I would see you again," Thranduil is trying to be calm and composed but there is an obvious light in his eyes that speaks volumes. "...my son!" He grants Legolas a genuine grin for the first time but doesn't move to reach for him.

All the balled-up sarcasm and irritation that Legolas has been housing since he entered the Thranduilion residence have suddenly washed away, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of being accepted and welcomed and hopefully loved by his estranged father. Before he realizes it, he is blinking back a tiny tear bordering his eye. He is tired of talking and bickering and now chooses to luxuriate in relief and resolution.

Seeing that Thranduil is not the type to initiate any kind of contact, Legolas almost leaps as he lunges forward to give Thranduil a full embrace, placing his cheek on his father's shoulder with a goofy smile on his face.

"Dad!" Legolas says warmly, tightening his hug and almost shaking Thranduil back and forth.

"Welcome back for the first time," Thranduil whispers.

He can't help but feel joyful, something he does not usually allow himself to feel, let alone has a chance to. His days are occupied by mostly business and money matters, and the upkeep and consequence of everything that comes along with being incredibly wealthy. He has a bit of space he keeps for love, but sometimes he is not even sure himself how much he feels for his girlfriend of a few years, Galadriel.

He looks down at Legolas who is still lost in simple happiness and lifts a hand, but leaves it hanging in mid air. The butler reappears at Thranduil's hand command but comprehends what is unfolding, and backs off, hiding a smile to himself.

Thranduil appears uncertain of what he wants to do next, but he lowers his hand gradually and places it on top of Legolas' head. He begins to pat him in a playful manner until he relaxes and lets out a breath he's been holding back.

* * *

It can't be. It's the infamous bat cave. He is beyond stoked. Who knew the bat cave was in Beverly Hills all along.

Thranduil and Legolas stand back as they watch two huge doors open automatically in front of them, triggered by motion detection. From the tiny gap in between the doors, Legolas is granted a glimpse into what is concealed in the 'garage'. Thranduil basically had to drag him there. He said there was something important he needed to show him. Something as important as the mother of all presents that is too many years overdue.

Legolas is the first to step forward and he already looks like he got all air sucked out of him. He manages to skirt around a Porsche and a Lamborghini without a drop of drool off of his mouth. He then tears his gaze away and scans the rest of the row of cars that seem to stretch into the next block, shaking his head.

"You have one car per day for like, a whole month. Have you even driven any of these? How do you sleep at night?"

"Maybe once or twice. It's a nice hobby, collecting these things," he pauses to point at the red Pagani Zonda sitting by itself under a string of small spotlights. "That one is my favourite."

Legolas' eyebrow shoots up at how ridiculous this man sounds. "Hundred-thousand dollar hobbies. Not all of us are so privileged..."

Thranduil ignores him and waves his hand at the expanse of the garage that looks like a car show. "Please pick one, for yourself. Leave the Pagani, it is mine."

"With a hundred thousand dollars, I can buy so many bikes," Legolas says, calculating frivolously in his head. "There will be one in every corner of my apartment!"

Thranduil smiles yet again. "Bikes did you say?"

Legolas finds himself in another 'bat cave', waiting again for magical doors to slide completely open while his father stands behind, seemingly bored. Thranduil talks away about which cars he drove to which events in Beverly Hills, be it the Oscars, the MTV awards, and plenty of large business openings he was invited to. He tells Legolas he is not very fond of bikes but he has a bit of an assortment. They both step into the second garage and Legolas' face falls slightly.

"I only have five of these. Like I said, I'm not a big bike person. Since you like them, have all of them," Thranduil offers, nonchalant. "Go give the Ducati a test ride."

Legolas takes a couple of steps forward and turns around to give Thranduil a disappointed look.

"I don't like this kind of bike," he begins, inching towards the Ducati and running a hand across its leather seat. "I prefer bicycles. Mountain bikes I could take through rough terrain. They don't pollute so it's good for..."

He reflexively springs back because Thranduil has started laughing like a maniac.

"Oh right! You are a tree-hugger. That's great, son. Better you than me," Thranduil says as he turns to head out of the garage.

"So you _don't_ have any bicycles," Legolas suddenly turns serious, running across the room to catch up to his father.

"Legolas, do you have a license to ride a motorcycle?"

"Yes. But I stopped riding during first year college. I've been sticking to bicycles ever since."

"Listen, I will have the Ducati delivered to your apartment. In two days I'm throwing a party, because I'm bored, and it's almost New Years. Brush up on your motorbiking skills, huh?"


End file.
